


Aikoto Week 2020

by sxetia



Category: Persona 3
Genre: Aikoto Week 2020, Drabble Collection, F/M, Relationship Study, Ship Week
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:47:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25287796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sxetia/pseuds/sxetia
Summary: Collection of writings submitted for Aikoto Week 2020.
Relationships: Arisato Minato/Aigis
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	1. Body Heat

There is such intimacy in touch — the flutter of the other’s body under your fingers, the tiniest of movements perceptible to sufficiently acute senses. The inherent, instinctual comfort that acts as fanfare to the simplest of gestures, a reassurance that one is not alone. The transfer of body heat and the all-calming embrace of natural warmth; so simple, so _human._

Aigis feels as if she fails in this regard, and the implications send her heart spiraling. Eyes dart back and forth between all ten of her fingers — synthetic, smooth leather in the place of flesh, ugly silver thimbles where fingernails should lie, things that _destroy_ and do not _nurture_ — as she scrutinizes over each detail in self-conscious agony, lapping over each one again and again as if they hold the answers she looks for.

Why can she not provide him a warm, gentle touch? Why will he always grasp her hand and feel the cold grip of a weapon? She is cold. She is unworthy. 

Minato finds her there, knelt over the bed with her arms outstretched in front of her. He haunts his door frame for what must be a few seconds at most, but he sees enough in her to last an eternity. Footsteps — slow, careful, deliberate, until her head snaps to lock their gazes and she recoils in shame. _Disgusting,_ she thought. 

“I apologize,” she says, lilts of despair breaking through her natural monotone. “I will never be able to hold you and keep you warm, or allow you to feel anything greater than cold metal, or—…” 

He had heard enough before she even said anything. Stoic Aigis is not, and she wears her emotions on her sleeve, brighter and more intense than their armbands. Lithe, bony arms find their way around the steel of her frame and pull her in as a chin worked its way to her shoulder, tresses of deep blue tickling the sharp curve of her jaw. He’s cold — _he’s always so cold,_ she thinks, _skin so pale and heartbeat so weak…_ — but he’s not as cold as she, and the layers wrapped around him transfer what little sparks he’s got right into her.

Warmth — of the body, of the soul, of the heart.

“That’s okay,” he says, and she can practically _hear_ that gentle, subtle smile. “I suppose that means I’ll have to keep you warm, instead…”


	2. Missing You

Minato saw everything — felt everything, knew everything, _was_ everything. 

He witnessed all that was, all that had been, and all that would be. One with the Universe and all within it, he was the buildup to the tragedy and the despair that it brought, he was the strength to move past it and the healing that eventually came. He knew each and every one of his old friends’ lives in intimate detail — who they were, who they would become, and the trials they would face before blossoming into who they had always meant to be. 

If only he could raise his voice to tell them of the future that laid before them, that they only need be strong for a few moments more before they began to bloom... but then, he supposed, that was what he laid down his mortal shell for. A chance to live and to embrace their lives, both through strife and through joy. 

Minato did not regret a thing, even as his wrists ached from their permanent posturing and the metal clamps that chained him to Nyx’s resting place, and even as he felt he would collapse underneath his own weight. The Great Seal had one purpose, and one purpose only: simply to _be._

Still, his mind wandered, at times. He made a hobby out of replaying his own memories in his head, cherishing them and reflecting on this scant seventeen-odd years of mortal life. Memories of friends, memories of sorrow, memories of _her._

His stone heart fluttered and flared in his chest every time he remembered Aigis, every time he watched her push forward — his gift to her before she embarked on her own Journey, her efforts in aiding others to find their own personal answers to life, and finally finding her own. She cherished his memory just as he did hers, and through that perpetual mourning they were unified as one. 

But sometimes... just sometimes... he missed her. He wished he could be there beside her when she was alone, when she was missing him right back. Even just to let her hear his voice or to place his fingers on her shoulder — anything to say _I’m still here._

But then, Minato thought, her continued ability to live without fear of Nyx reigning down humanity’s ultimate desire was the best reminder that he was always there and always would be. If he were to leave for even a second, then... 

Minato found content in her memory. But he missed her, longed for her, yearned for her company, the one human _need_ he had never managed to shake during his ascension. Pangs of melancholy joy when he watched her, joyous to see her live and mourning that he couldn’t live _with_ her.

He missed her so, so much. _That_ was the true burden of the Messiah.


	3. Trauma Recovery

He still trembles when in a car, eyes shut and headphones cranked to eardrum-rupturing intensity to drown out the world moving around him. An act as simple as a cab ride to the dorm evokes memories that have rotted for over a decade, a night fragmented by the explosion that shattered his life into fractured chunks of glass.

She holds his hand through it, grounds him in the present when the past claws into his flesh. It makes him feel a little more alive, a little more okay. 

He squeezes hard, _so_ hard, as hard as his frail little body can muster. The cold metal and cracked leather doesn't bother him – it's her hand, it's a part of her, nothing more and nothing less. It makes her feel a little more human, a little more alive.

Being alive isn't a sin. A chance to live, and love, and heal – those aren't things one should harbor guilt for. To know is different than to _feel,_ but they'll etch this lesson into one another's souls.


End file.
